“Tonight.”

“Sorry.” She smiled again, though her teeth were beginning to clench. “I have a date.”

She felt the quick increase in pressure of his fingers over hers and was perversely pleased. “All right, when?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen every day, and some evenings, to oversee the remodeling. You need only ride the elevator down.”

He drew her closer, and though the desk remained between them, Summer felt that the ground beneath was a bit less firm. “I want to see you alone,” he said quietly. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers slowly, one by one. “Away from here, outside of business hours.”

If Blake Cocharan, II had been anything like Blake Cocharan, III in his youth, Summer could understand how her mother had become so quickly, so heatedly involved. The yearning was there, and the temptation—but she wasn’t Monique. In this case, she was determined history would not repeat itself. “I’ve explained to you why that’s not possible. I don’t enjoy covering the same ground twice.”

“Your pulse is racing,” Blake pointed out as he ran a finger across her wrist.

“It generally does when I become annoyed.”

“Or aroused.”

Tilting her head, she sent him a killing look. “Would you amuse yourself with LaPointe in this way?”

Temper stirred and he suppressed it, knowing she wanted him to be angry. “At the moment, I don’t care whether you’re a chef or a plumber or a brain surgeon. At the moment,” he repeated, “I only care that you’re a woman, and one that I desire very much.”

She wanted to swallow because her throat had gone dry but fought off the need. “At the moment I am a chef with a specific job to do. I’ll ask you again to excuse me so I can begin to do it.”

This time, Blake thought as he released her hand. But, by God, this time was the last time. “Sooner or later, Summer.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed as she picked up her leather folder. “Perhaps not.” In one quick gesture, she zipped it closed. “Enjoy your day, Blake.” As if her legs weren’t weak and watery, she strolled to the door and out.

Summer continued to walk calmly through the outer office, over the plush carpet, past the busy secretaries and through the reception area. Once in the elevator, she leaned back against the wall and let out the long, tense breath she’d been holding. Nerves jumping, she began the ride down.

That was over, she told herself. She’d faced him in his office and won every point.

Sooner or later, Summer.

She let out another breath. Almost every point, she corrected. The important thing now was to concentrate on her kitchen, and to keep busy. It wasn’t going to help matters if she allowed herself to think of him as she had over the weekend.

As her nerves began to calm, Summer straightened away from the wall. She’d handled herself well, she’d made herself clear and she’d walked out on him. All in all, a successful morning. She pressed a hand against her stomach where a few muscles were still jumping. Damn it, things would be simpler if she didn’t want him so badly.